The World is Not Yet Prepared
by Protector of the Gray Fortress
Summary: A series of random crossovers for my own delight. Dalmatians, Mary Poppins...whoever will Holmes and Watson run into next.
1. Toby's Case

**Kay, I couldn't resist this, I have wanted to see Holmes and Watson's reactions to so many different characters I decided to go for it, and besides KCS thought it was a good idea so that was enough of a reason.**

**This is the first of many, and I am open to suggestions, though I cannot garuntee that I can or will use them all. **

**Hope you enjoy it, done with the sole purpose to amuse. **

**-PGF**

"Watson, would you give that blasted dog something to gnaw on?" Sherlock Holmes grumbled from the depths of his armchair, where he was perched like some obscene stork, his long legs drawn up to his chest and his violin hanging limply from his hand. His brows were drawn down in a dark line, like a head of storm clouds as he glared at his flatmate.

The long-suffering Doctor sighed, his head resting on his hand, elbow's on his desk.

"You mean besides your violin?"

Holmes' glare darkened and he pulled the beloved insturment to safety in his lap.

"Watson I must be able to think to solve this case by Friday as I promised his lordship, and I cannot think when Toby is making that racket!" the detective's voice rose shrilly with each word.

"Oh very well," Watson said irritably, tossing his pen onto the half completed page of his notebook. "Though I don't recall you complaining earlier when he was tracking down your contact."

The Doctor crossed the room to the door where Toby was crouched, sniffling and worrying at the base of the door.

Watson bent and scratched behind his ears. "What is it old chap eh? What's the matter?"

Toby turned to fix a beseeching stare on the doctor. He whined and licked at his hand before crouching and wriggling, letting out little sounds of distress.

"Watson, please!" Holmes, made invisible behind the back of his armchair, groaned loudly.

The Doctor frowned, and went to the table taking his dinner plate and set it on the ground.

"Toby, here lad." He said softly, whistling and snapping his fingers.

The dog sent him another distressed look, before turning back to the door and ignoring him completely.

Understanding lit the kindly hazel eyes, and the fair brows rose. "Ah…that's all it is eh? Sorry old man, just a moment."

He turned to the sideboard, collected the dog's lead and knelt beside the troubled beast, clipping it onto his collar.

"I'll be back in a moment Holmes," he said, collecting his hat and jacket.

Holmes grunted, already lost in thought as he lit puffed on his pipe.

Watson turned the knob of the door, unaware of how Toby had tensed at his feet as though in preparation for a 50-yard dash.

The instant the door opened the dog sped forward, yanking Watson off balance. The Doctor grunted and only just kept hold of the lead, stumbling down the stairs after the animal at incredible speed.

"Toby, hold on there, slow down boy!"

He didn't, only seemed to gain in speed as he reached the bottom of the seventeen steps and bolted to the front door in his odd waddling gallop.

Watson lost his footing, scrambled to his feet, and hurried to open the door, lest the poor dog make a puddle on Mrs. Hudson's front carpet.

The night was clear, and the stars, what could be seen of them through the smog, shone like distant jewels in the velvet sky.

Once outside Toby stopped on the stoop and turned his head, ears pricked, allowing the Doctor to catch his breath. Only then did he notice the unusual amount of barking that filled the air above London, echoing along the ancient streets and causing many of the cities occupants to complain as loudly as the canines.

Watson only had time to puzzle over this oddity when Toby himself raised his head and let out a long howl, his voice rising to meet the best of them.

"Toby, be quiet." Watson said, giving the lead a tug.

Toby ignored him, cocking his head again and let out a series of barks and yelps.

"Toby, stop that!"

"Rowr! Arowr! Rooooooowr!"

"Toby!"

His words had no effect, and only a moment passed before, Toby jerked sharply on the lead, pulling the Doctor off balance again.

Watson gasped, struggled to hold on, then felt the lead slip from his fingers.

"Toby!"

But the dog was gone, disappearing rapidly into the twilight, his lead flailing behind him like a banner, and Watson could only trot a short ways after him before he lost sight of him completely.

He stood, absently rubbing his right leg, and flinching as another series of barks rang through the streets.

* * *

I loped along at moderate speed, air and ears raised to the air to catch the sounds of the twilight bark and any scent that might come my way.

Cab, Horse, Tree, Fire, Tavern, whiskey, too many sweaty humans crowded into one room.

I stopped for a moment in the light of the pub, my ears twitching at the sounds of singing and boisterous laughter.

It was much easier without the Doctor at my heels, not that I didn't want him along, he was quite sensible for a human and had some very good qualities, but it was always so hard to convince any of the two-legs that I knew the right way. Not to mention the Doctor's leg, which I could tell had been paining him from the smells of distress and discomfort that I had smelled on the man since early evening.

No, it was better for all concerned that I take this case alone…now if only I could find the right clue.

I got to my feet again, sniffing the wet pavement in front of the pub door, my ridiculous lead trailing behind me as I cast about for the right sent.

Cigarettes, some cheap and some more expensive, various liquors, and an unending series of unwashed men had passed this way, but there was no sign of the particular two for which I was hoping.

Hmm, I crossed to the other side of the door, sniffing along the base of barrel which stood there, taking in wood, and oil, and…ah…there they were at last! Two of them, both smelled as though they hadn't washed in days, covered in cheap wine, sandwiches and more importantly puppies, numerous puppies, too many for my count.

I followed the scent, picking it out from the numerous others and traced it right up to the peeling wood of the pub door. I pulled back, grimacing and huffing as I was overwhelmed by the stink.

So they had gone in the pub then…did that mean the game was up did they have the puppies again already?

No, for even as I stood at the door, I heard approaching footsteps and their scents grew strong again, I only just had time to scramble backward and hide behind the barrel before the door opened and they staggered out, one absurdly tall and thin…almost as silly looking as Holmes himself, and another stout and short. Both were freshly covered in whiskey.

"There now, I feel better Jasper." The fat one said, still clutching a mug and grinning up at his mate as he swayed drunkenly.

"Right you are Horace, nothin' a little bit-o-rum couldn' fix. Pull yourself together though, we got a job ta do."

The fat one saluted and they staggered up the street towards my hiding place.

As they passed they passed, the stout one caught sight of me, and peered at me blearily, his scent taking on a sharp edge of excitement.

"Look'ee here Jasper, here's one already!"

He reached out towards me, and I backed up, growling low. His mate gave him a sharp rap on the skull.

"Don't be daft you idiot, that's just some mutt. Let's go we're wastin' time."

He dragged his companion off, ignoring the loud complaints that ensued.

I stood, sniffing after them for a few moments, then turned round as a familiar yelp reached my ears.

"Over here." The voice was soft and stealthy, with a distinctive England accent of the middle class.

I sniffed my way over to the narrow alley beside the pub and he came out from behind a much battered box.

He was dalmation, no doubt of it, though that was difficult to ascertain as he was covered from nose to tail in thick soot that masked his scent.

He looked haggard, and stood on tired legs that quivered as though they would very much like to give out beneath him, His scent spoke of hardship and stress and little sleep and was bitter with worry.

"Toby…" he growled softly, "Are you Toby?"

I came forward slowly so as not to startle the poor fellow.

"You got my message then." I answered, allowing him to sniff me over. He visibly relaxed when he sensed my motive.

The well-known Pongo sighed tiredly. "Yes, we arrived just in time for the twilight bark. But we're still some ways from our pets, we'll never reach them without being found out."

"I have heard some of your troubles, and much of the original affair, I have to say you might have saved yourself a great deal of trouble if you went to my pets instead of ScotlandYard.

"I know it," Pongo said, "Only my pets thought differently."

"Well, never mind old chap, I have a place you can stay. My pets are well-trained, the Doctor would never turn you out, and he has Holmes under control most of the time, that is when Holmes is not acting like a six-week old who's just discovered pork-links."

Pongo went nearly limp with relief. "Thank heavens."

"Are you all here?" I asked, raising my head and catching other scents, similar to his own.

"Yes," He said, leading me back to the alley, where I caught sight of a very attractive female who could only be his mate, and a horde of puppies beyond…good heavens…there were a lot of them weren't there.

The female tensed slightly, as I approached, her eyes as wary and as weary as her mates.

Pongo went to her and licked her face softly, "It's alright my dear, he's here to help, he knows someone who can sort this whole mess out."

I lowered my head politely, allowing the delicate creature to sniff me hesitantly.

"Mrs. Pongo." I said, "Happy to be of service"

* * *

I had perhaps overestimated my poor pets, for their scents indicated acute surprise when the horde of soot-covered puppies sped through the door of the sitting room, followed closely by the Pongo's and myself.

The Doctor leapt back from the door and Holmes let out a yelp, leaping up onto his untidy desk. I grinned happily, they were only part-time pets, and quite funny in their ways, but they were also very amusing and so very cute.

"Watson! What the blazes!?"

The detective's scent indicated outrage as well as surprise now as he recovered from the shock. Poor Watson was thunderstruck and quite speechless.

"Holmes," he murmured quietly, his eyes roaming the mass of wriggling black bodies (I was glad I had made them go before we came in) "They're everywhere."

Holmes scowled. "You're telling me Watson." he looked over to his armchair and yelped again attempting to dive forward as one of the puppies rooted in his tobacco slipper.

Instead he disappeared beneath the ocean of fur and spluttered and yelped as dozens of warm little tongues and wet noses inspected him.

Watson laughed, his shock breaking at last, though he still viewed the group with some asperity, he looked them over and inevitably his eyes fell on me.

"Toby, what on earth!"

I would have explained, but there was no time for it, and they never listened to me anyhow. I pushed my way through the excitedly chattering young ones to the window, barking sharply to let them know of the urgency.

Perhaps it was the fact that he was too shocked to be surprised of anything any longer but the good Doctor followed me to the window and looked out into the darkness.

"I say Holmes," he said, "There is the most unusual woman coming up the street."

Holmes staggered free of the dogs and joined us at the window, straightening his cravat and brushing ineffectively at his coat. His scent radiated annoyance.

It changed a moment later though, to intense curiosity.

"I don't like it Watson, she has been in some trouble, look at the state of her coat…and the two ruffians with her." His nose, which had always reminded me of a birds wrinkled with distaste.

"What sort of woman wears that many furs?"

"Not a very tasteful one," the Doctor murmured, his scent indicating a similar disapproval. I thumped my tail in encouragement, they really were quite bright for humans.

"She's coming here." Watson went on in surprise he turned to his friend. "Holmes…you don't think…"

Holmes did not answer, only looked around at the crowd of puppies, at the Pongos and finally at me.

I met his gaze and held it, wishing for once that his race was intelligent enough to understand the language of my own.

There was the ring of the bell, then the familiar smells and sounds of Mrs. Hudson (fresh bread and clean linen) answering the door.

Sharp footsteps and a sharper voice rattled up the steps and I felt myself flinching instinctively along with the Pongos and the puppies.

My pet took out his pipe and stuck it in his mouth reflectively. His scent was as enigmatic as his face, I could not read his thoughts, and I was as curious as Watson smelled when he went to the door and opened it just enough to peer out at the horrible woman who attempted to force her way past.

"Where are they!?" she screeched, "What have you done with them?"

I looked anxiously about, but the puppies had retreated from the line of sight, some going into Holmes' bedroom, some crouched around their parents, who stared in fear at the door.

Holmes blocked the woman's attempted entrance.

"What do you mean madam?" My pet said coolly, "I must say I am not accustomed to such disturbances at this late hour.

Liar, I huffed softly and Watson smiled in amusement, both of us knowing better.

"Horace and Jasper saw them come in here!" the woman snapped, her eyes alight with a desperate frenzy. "Don't try to deny it!"

Holmes stood unmoved, peering curiously at her companions, the very ones I had crossed paths with earlier.

"Have you been drinking gentlemen?" he asked sniffing the air. I grinned and thumped my tail in approval, only imagine the results if he did that more often.

The woman glared at my pet. "And just who are you?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes."

For the first time since the woman's arrival, silence filled the room, and I wrinkled my nose as her terrible scent took on a tinge of fear.

"Holmes." She said softly, her eyes locked by the hypnotic gaze of the detective. She whirled on her thugs, her eyes sharp as flint. "Jasper you idiot, how dare you drink on the job!"

The man cringed, and backed off, "Look Miss, we saw what we saw, but…"

He trailed off as he looked at Holmes, and I almost sneezed at the fear he radiated.

"Blimey," he whispered and he and the stout one began to descend the steps.

The woman sniffed haughtily, and peered past Holmes once more before turning to follow them.

Holmes shut the door, then turned round with a very bemused grin.

Watson stared at him, his eyes filled with sudden understanding.

"Holmes…that woman…these dogs…do you remember that very odd case only few weeks ago…about…"

Holmes smiled. "Oh yes Watson, I remember." He looked round at the huddle of dogs who were once again moving about in comfortable relief, Pongo and Perdita sent me relieved looks, and I wagged my tail proudly. Oh yes…my pets were wonderful.

Holmes finished his survey and looked at me, "In all my years I never thought I would be outdone, by this sort of detective Watson."

Watson shook his head in amazement.

"Well we can take them round in the morning…but how on earth are we going to explain this Holmes?"

Holmes shooed several puppies from his armchair and sat with a sigh.

"That does not worry me half as much my dear fellow, as to how we will explain this all to Mrs. Hudson!"


	2. Bending the Rules

**Alright, I couldn't help this one, I had to do it at least once. Also, this won't be the only crossover with the Doctor, I plan on doing the next one properly with the tenth Doctor, but I love nine so much I thought I'd just stick him in here. **

**This one is mostly nonsense, and I probably won't do one like it again, but consider yourselves warned. **

"You didn't suspect this did you Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock Holmes glared at the horde of villains that surrounded him, not only Stapleton who leered in his face but also Smith, Moran, Clay and numerous others all of whom he'd brought to justice for their foul crimes.

The Detective struggled angrily against his bonds, trying not to look at his companion, where he lay stunned on the floor, a thin trickle of blood flowing down his cheek from the gash in his head.

"No, I confess I did not, although you could have been a little more original Stapleton…tying us hand and foot and imprisoning us in an abandoned cellar. Not to mention hitting poor Watson on the head yet again. Where's Moriarty?"

Moran made a face and Stapleton frowned, there was a general murmur of disapproval from the crowd of villains.

"He declined to take part in this fic…he said it was beneath him."

Holmes looked around at the dim cellar, the uneven floorboards and the damp stone walls.

"How are you all even fitting in this room? There are too many of you…the dimensions…"

"Shut up!" Moran snapped, losing his temper at last and raising his air gun to shoulder level. "I've had enough of you Holmes, we all have, you and your cheek, you and your arrogant self-assurance. We've had enough, and we're calling an end to it."

Holmes raised his eyebrows.

"Whatever for…people love me…how else do you explain the continued popularity of Watson's stories after more than a century?"

Moran growled again, and pressed the weapon into Holmes' well-known hawk-like nose.

"He's right though," said a new voice from the rear of the room.

All the villains turned as one, their faces classically shocked to see a very odd structure indeed.

It was a Blue box, tall and narrow and solid, like a sentinel, its eight window's alight, bearing the words: 'Police Public Call Box, free for use of public' across its top.

Against it leaned two people, one a tall fellow with marine-short black hair, a large nose and ears, and sharp blue eyes. He stood casually, with his arms crossed, looking perfectly at home in his worn leather jacket. The second was a girl…a very ordinary girl, in jeans and a polo t-shirt, her hands in her pockets, her short, dark hair sticking up at disobedient, odd angles.

It was this girl who had spoken, and to she that Stapleton next spoke.

"And just who do you think you are?"

The girl surveyed the crowd with a very unamused glance.

"I'm PGF, and this is the Doctor, but we're not talking about me, we're talking about Holmes over there."

Moran raised his air-gun,

"What are you doing here?"

The girl snorted very rudely, as though she was fed up with the world in general.

"I should think that was obvious, I'm getting tired of the rules of Fanfiction, and I've decided to bend them a little, we're here for Holmes and Watson cause we like em…don't we KCS?"

The girl paused when there was no answer, she looked to her companion, who shrugged, a grin on his face and pointed to the box against which he leaned.

The girl sighed, and pushed open the doors of the box, sticking her head in.

"C'mon KCS, we don't have all day."

There was a dismal groan from inside the box and a very frustrated voice said.

"I don't know how I let you talk me into this, I've never even seen Doctor Who."

"It's the only way I could think to get here…and besides he likes you, so stop moaning and come out of there."

There was another bout of grumbling and to the villains' great astonishment a second girl stepped out o the box, this one with freckles, ginger hair and green eyes.

She gave the Doctor a dubious glare and he grinned back.

"Hello." He said pleasantly with a northern, British accent.

"Hi." KCS, answered, "Were you dragged into this too?"

The Doctor shrugged, and continued to grin, as though they were all out for a sunny picnic.

"Didn't have anything better to do, and she's written a few stories for me, I figured I owed her summat."

Moran, with his nerves of steel, was the first to recover this additional shock, he raised the gun again.

"Now listen here…"

PGF scowled.

"…I have had enough of this nonsense…"

Holmes and the Doctor both frowned apprehensively, while the crowd of villains smirked.

"…we're here to do what we've always done. Try to get rid of Holmes…"

PGF bristled visibly.

"…We'll most likely fail but the fact of the matter is that we rather enjoy it, And we cause Dr. Watson and him no end of grief in the process…"

PGF growled.

Moran scowled, "…So if you'll just step aside little girl…"

With an almost audible snap, PGF yelled and plowed forward into the Colonel. They went down in a tangle of fists and limbs and through sheer tenacity, the girl landed on top and began raining blows onto the Colonel's head, which even if they were ineffective were very satisfying none the less.

The crowd of villain's stood by, utterly shocked…a fanfic author attacking the villain, such a thing was unheard of, but then PGF was not known for convention, more for violent fights in her fic's.

KCS who was far more level-headed, had circled round the crowd to where Holmes and Watson sat, (the good Doctor having recovered himself a few moments ago).

_The _Doctor, accompanied her, and when she bent to undo the knots on the hero's bonds he slipped a long narrow instrument, rather like a flashlight into her hand.

KCS frowned. "What's this?"

"Sonic screwdriver, just point it and push the button."

She did so, lighting up the small, blue light at the end and the ropes came readily apart. The Doctor pulled Holmes to his feet, while the girl helped the still-groggy Watson to his, pulling one arm around her shoulder.

He put his hand to his head wearily, then smiled down at her. "Thank you."

KCS blushed, but returned the smile. "You're welcome."

"I must say," Said Holmes, to the Doctor who was watching the struggle with great interest. "This is all rather unusual isn't it?"

The Doctor nodded then shrugged. "Its not unknown for Fanfic writers to snap every now and then, the only thing you can do is stand back and let them have it out."

"Well perhaps she could find a more creative outlet…such as her writing?" The detective said, viewing the crowd of villains warily. They were still in shock but some of them, especially Stapleton, were rapidly becoming annoyed.

"You have a point." The Doctor said, and without further preamble he and Holmes began to push their way forward through the crowd to where the girl continued to rain down blows on the harassed Colonel.

The two bent and between them managed to pry the girl off the villain, though she struggled and continued to growl, her own face bearing several bruises and a swollen eyes.

Moran sat up angrily, sporting a split lip.

"Uh-Oh," KCS said, still supporting Watson.

"Get them!" the Colonel snapped angrily, pointing.

"Run!" the Doctor said grinning releasing his hold on PGF.

They hurried back toward the box, which had magically drifted a considerable distance away, pursued by the villains.

KCS glared at PGF who was running in between her two heroes, grinning, still on a high from the fight.

"This was the stupidest idea you've ever had."

"Probably."

The villains were gaining, Watson paused and made to pull out his revolver, but was thwarted as Small flew at him, tackling him. In an instant KCS was there and she landed several sharp blows to the man's face and stomach, driving him back until Watson got to his feet and practically picked her up, hurrying on toward the box.

They were so close the box was just ahead, but several hands reached out and groped for them.

The Doctor tripped and fell, his sonic screwdriver flying from his hand, Stapleton and Moran on top of him at once.

The other's gasped, and turned back, but were saved from having to turn back by yet another new voice, a thin tenor raised in a sort of battle shout.

A young man, hurled himself into the fray and began to land blows wildly right and left, this was obviously not the brawl he had been in.

Stapleton fell back with a groan, sporting a bleeding nose, Moran growled and seized the young man by the throat.

"Oi!" the colonel turned to meet gaze of a light haired, bearded man, with clear, blue eyes and sinewy muscles developed after long years at sea.

"I've been wanting a word with you mate." The Midshipman growled and with one blow, knocked the villain unconscious.

The seaman turned to the other two stragglers. lifting them onto their feet.

"I can't trust you to stay out o trouble can I Renie?"

The reporter shrugged with a cheeky grin.

"I think its about time we were out of here." The Doctor said.

And then they were running again, making for the blue box and the small crowd that had gathered around it, now including a small ginger-haired boy who hopped about excitedly and clinging periodically onto KCS and Watson.

"Are we quite finished here?" Holmes asked them all impatiently.

PGF looked round, and at the approaching horde.

"Yep," she said "On one condition…"

They trooped into the blue box, and the doors shut just in time in Small's face, making him fall back, clutching his bent nose.

The box began to vanish with a bizarre wheezing sound.

"Oh yes? And what is that?"

"…can I have your autograph?"


	3. The Vanishing Box part 1

It was a rather cool day in the year of 1898 when I awoke to the familiar welcoming smell of Mrs. Hudson's cooking.

I finished my toilette with care, for I knew that no case of interest awaited Sherlock Holmes and myself and planned to spend the day in a leisurely fashion, writing up more of our adventures for the strand.

It was as I descended the stairs that the first feelings of foreboding, and puzzlement, hit me, for there came to my ears one of the most singular sounds I had ever heard.

It was comparable to the wailing given off by a small creature, such as a cat, at the time of death.

It traveled across the landing, squeaking at a pitch that made my hair and very nerves stand on end, and then it trailed off in a pathetic descent back into silence.

I paused in the sudden quiet, my head cocked. I winced as it started again and I half-lifted my hands to cover my ears.

"What the blazes?!'

It was coming from our sitting room, and with a sudden jolt of fear I rushed to the door and flung it open. The sound could only be caused by my dear friend.

It was, but not in the manner I had first thought.

The first thing I saw upon entry, and indeed the only object of his anatomy visible was his long, lanky arm as it dipped and rose, bowing the atrocious noise out on his cursed violin.

Even as I watched the crescendo died in another pathetic wail and the arm fell limply behind the back of the couch.

A moment later it rose to begin the entire process all over.

"Holmes." I said sharply, in a hope of preventing this.

The arm paused in its action and there came a long, and very languid sigh from the unseen occupant of the sofa.

"Good morning Watson," my friend intoned dejectedly. "I trust you slept well?"

"Quite well." I said, alarmed not so much by my friend's tones as with the commonplace question.

Holmes never asked commonplace questions unless he was bored. And a bored Sherlock Holmes was something to be dreaded. I had noticed his languidness and lack of energy earlier in the week but had thought little of it until now.

"And…" I began hesitantly, drawing across the room to the breakfast that lay still steaming on the table. "How are you this morning Holmes?"

His reply came in the form of another long, heartfelt sigh and I had no trouble discerning the despair of it. This was not his usual black mood, rather he seemed to be utterly lacking in energy, unwilling even to draw put forth the effort required to be angry or upset.

I seated myself and endeavored to enjoy the breakfast, but of course out of concern for my friend I found I had little appetite.

Silence reigned throughout the room, the violin lay forgotten, and after a moment or two it became almost deafening, my own movements sounding offensively loud in the atmosphere. Finally I could not stand it any longer and I rose to my feet to stride around the couch to get a good look at my friend.

I was hard put to keep from flinching, It was not a pretty sight. I have said, in my memoirs that Holmes has a sense of personal appearance that would shame the fussiest of felines…and the surest sign that he was in a dangerous state of mind is when he let this standard drop.

He had not dropped it this time around, he had let it go completely. His eyes were red from not one or two nights but possibly days with little sleep, his often carefully slicked hair had fallen over his brow and stuck up in numerous and wild directions. He was dressed only in a pair of trousers and shirtsleeves that were so wrinkled and stained with his precious chemicals that I had no doubt they would see the rubbish bin the instant that Mrs. Hudson got her hands on them. Over those he wore his moth-eaten gray dressing gown secured loosely by its belt. He was barefooted, his chin gray with stubble and even his pipe hung cold and unlit from his lips, seemingly forgotten by its owner who usually treated it like a smokestack.

His eyes swiveled slightly in my direction before rolling back to their former position to stare at the floor…like a last set of olives in the bottom of a jar.

"Holmes." I said, cautiously, for I was unfamiliar with this extent of despair and did not quite know how I was going to pull him out of it. "Have you seen the post yet today?"

He grunted and with minimal movement flopped his hand in the direction of the sideboard where the entire pile of mail was imbedded into its surface with the jackknife that we usually kept in the mantle.

I strode over and grasping the handle firmly I tugged on it. It barely moved, further examination showed that it was nearly an inch into the wood…secured there by a violent blow.

I swallowed and looked at the sprawled form of my friend doubtfully.

After another fruitless effort I instead tugged the mail free of the knife, slicing the letters nearly in half as I did.

Perhaps his temper was understandable after all, for I had never seen a more pathetic array of postage.

There was a postcard with a sentence and a half bearing a very tattered image of the Eiffel tower, two bills, and a note from Mrs. Hudson reminding us that the drapes were due to be changed.

I shot a look at the objects in question and sighed, I would never understand our landlady's fixation with the things, they looked alright to me…a little dusty perhaps but…

I tossed the mail back down beside the knife and went over to my chair instead, seating myself and gazing at my friend in concern.

He did not bother to meet my gaze but instead fiddled with his violin, plucking absently at the strings with one finger.

"Holmes." I said again, more pointedly this time. "Have you looked at the paper?"

"Yes I did." I felt my heart sink at the lack of any emotion whatsoever in his monotone voice. "It was very useful."

"Useful?"

Another hand flop indicated the fireplace and I looked at the guttering flames to see several remaining scraps of the familiar black and white print of not only the times but several other of favorite of Holmes' newspapers. I winced again…none of them had been spared…not even the agony columns he was so fond of.

I got to my feet and strode with as much casualness as I could muster to the window, pulling back one of the ill-fated drapes I cleared my throat and endeavored to put some cheer into my voice.

"You know Holmes…the weather seems to have taken a turn for the better, this day really is too splendid to spend cooped up in here. What say we go for a walk?"

I listened hopefully to a rather poor version of a Bach symphony plucked out on the strings before the dead voice of my friend again addressed me, sounding as though speaking alone was far too great an effort.

"What for?"

"Well for one thing to keep your muscles from atrophying." I said, "And for another we might find something of interest…you never know."

There was a very short and utterly mirthless laugh, followed by another sigh.

"What's the point Watson? There is nothing of interest…not here, not outside, not in the papers, not even abroad. Everything has been done before. There is not an original thought in all the combined minds of this entire planet, and with every circuit that the sun makes…"

"The _earth_ makes, Holmes…"

"…every circuit that the earth makes it is the same thing over and over, repeated without end…what's the bloody point?!"

All through this litany his voice had risen from its deadened state to one of increasing anger and agitation, until at last he was fairly shouting and with a violent movement he had sprung to his feet and was now pacing agitatedly in front of the fireplace.

I stepped hastily out of his path lest I be trampled underfoot, he would not have noticed, I was sure…such was the look of fury and despair of this abrupt change of mood.

No…this was most certainly not one of his usual black moods. I doubted whether even a summons from the Queen herself would so much as stir him towards his usual state of mind.

At least he was moving.

"Look, Holmes…Things are just a little slow now…it's just now the end of a long and rather difficult winter, its' natural to feel a little listless, but it is not healthy for you to remain like this."

"Why should I worry about my health?" he snapped swinging his violin carelessly in one hand, only adding to my worry, for he usually treated the thing with more care than he would a human being.

"Because you do not want to drive yourself into illness when a case of interest _does_ come along…"

He let out a veritable snarl, cutting me off and flinging his violin into his armchair, where it bounced and fell to the ground.

He did not bother to retrieve it.

"It's always the same with you, Watson." he went on, directing his fierce gaze at me instead. "You are always pestering me with your endless badgering about my health!"

"Because I am concerned about you. Do you really think me so poor a friend that I would sit by and let you do this to yourself?"

He went on, unwilling to listen. "Day and night; Eat something Holmes, you should really get some sleep Holmes, Put on your coat or you'll get a cold, you're not a machine Holmes…"

"Well you aren't!" I raised my own voice, "And if you could realize that you would be a great deal happier!"

He had stopped his pacing, and stopped in front of fire, glaring down at the flames as though in some sort of kinship with them. At my words he let out a sigh of exhaustion and disgust and bracing his arms against the mantle he let his head fall forward against them.

He was behaving like a child, and for this I was inclined to be angry at him…but another emotion overcame the first…one that I had never felt and in truth had never expected to feel for my friend. it churned in my stomach and made my own heart sink like a like a brick. Pity.

For an English gentleman there could be nothing worse…and for Sherlock Holmes…

I could not let this happen, could not let him remain like this or indeed bear to see him in this state. I took a bracing breath and then did something I had never presumed to do before.

I seized hold of Holmes' arm and pulling him away from the mantle I marched him towards his room.

His surprise was such that he offered no objection or resistance and instead looked at me with a very vague mix of bemusement and disinterest.

"Watson…"

"We're going on a walk…get yourself cleaned up."

"I'm not…"

I pushed him into the room and made shut the door behind him, but stopped when he only stood there, making no movement toward his bureau.

"Well?" I demanded trying to sound authoritative.

He did nothing, made no movement. Even my brusqueness had done nothing to arouse the least bit of resistance from him. He was merely petering between states of extreme agitation and listlessness…and the despair was always evident, there in every line of his thin frame, in his face, burning in his eyes, draining him of energy…

For a second my resolution wavered…what if I was not capable of pulling him out of this fit…he was making no effort himself…his violin, his papers and even his morocco case (I confirmed with a glance) lay abandoned. If the vile drug were not capable of distracting him for a brief while how would anything else suffice?

I steeled myself. Whether it was possible or not I was going to try…for I could never give up on him.

"Holmes." I said clearly, with more seriousness than I had ever summoned before. "If you take a walk with me then I promise you that you will see something you have never seen before…ever."

Even as I spoke the words I understood the absurdity of them, for by his own views he was correct, we would find nothing that either of us were unacquainted with. But if I could just get him outside and moving perhaps I could find a way to spark his interest and energy again. It was a lie, but I hoped that for once, he would find it convincing.

He did not, the instant that the words left my mouth the despair flared anew in his eyes and his thin lips twisted in an ironic, sad smile. He knew…there was no fooling him.

But he did not sigh in disgust or break out in a fresh rant of anger as I had expected he would. He stared at me considering…and somewhere in the depths of his dead eyes I caught the faintest stirrings of will and energy… as though there was some portion of his spirit that had not yet given into this black mood, but simply did not know how to break away from it.

My heart leapt slightly at this prospect and I held my breath as I waited for his reply.

Finally he nodded and reached for his top drawer.

"Very well, Watson." he said, and made to go about his morning ablutions. I closed the door quietly and began to pace softly in my own agitation. I had just promised Sherlock Holmes something that he and I both knew was impossible, and he had taken me on my word. I wanted nothing more at that instant than to prove that faith in me to be justified…but I had not the least Idea how to do it.


	4. The Vanishing Box part 2

The weather had indeed improved since yesterday, the drab grayness of winter clearing in the first smells and sounds of the renewal of spring. I was grateful for that at least, for while the surroundings had improved, Holmes had not.

A shave and a change of clothing had done a great deal to help his appearance, but his eyes still smoldered in agitation and his movements were far from energetic.

I tried unsuccessfully to get him to make deductions about the other occupants of the park, and I when he deigned to do so I attempted it myself, hoping that he would correct my conclusions or make some comment on my inability to observe.

But other than a few half-hearted comments about my eyesight he showed no interest. We had soon fallen into silence, and not the companionable silence of old friends but one that obviously needed something to fill it.

Perhaps this had been a bad idea after all…it would have been better to leave Holmes to his own devices than drive him to further agitation through a poor attempt at distraction. And of course I had failed in my promise…everything we had seen so far was not only commonplace…but familiar. Holmes was right there was nothing of interest…nothing at-

My thoughts cut off as sharply as I did, as I came in contact with Holmes bony back, colliding with him enough to send me stumbling back, blinking in surprise.

I looked in puzzlement to see that Holmes had stopped abruptly causing my collision, his eyes were fixed on the crowd milling in front of a fountain just ahead of us.

I followed his gaze in perplexity…and then had to keep myself from laughing, for the object of Holmes scrutiny was a woman.

Well…she was more of a girl really, though she wore more makeup than even a lady of respectable years would wear. I put her age as somewhere between 18 and 20 with a round face, brown eyes, and very blond hair.

Her fascination was immediately apparent, for she was dressed in a manner that I had never, even in my limited travels, seen before.

She wore what appeared to be a very tight version of men's trousers, and above that she wore an even tighter shirt that did nothing to hide the contours of her body. Her apparel was colorful, and her hair hung loosely about her head. Over all she wore a short jacket unlike any I had seen before.

In good conscience I could not place her in any class or position. She was in essence an enigma.

I looked at Holmes, and was gratified to see that he was watching the girl not only with interest but bemusement…his lips twitched.

"Watson."

"Yes, Holmes?"

"When you said we should see something I had never seen before, I did not think that you meant _this_."

I reddened slightly. "Well I didn't…I didn't think that…Holmes I haven't the faintest Idea who she is."

As I watched the strange girl turned in a slow circle, her hands in the pockets of her trousers, peering about the crowd in apparent consternation, biting her lower lip.

"Well Holmes," I said, "What can you deduce about her?"

My friend continued to watch her, his eyes bright and alert once again as they searched her for the minutest of clues.

Finally he shook his head. "I can deduce nothing Watson…only that she is not from here…and she is obviously a traveler."

"I can see the first point but why the second?"

"Firstly because she is without an escort, she is obviously accustomed to independence, and if she is not from here than she can only be visiting. Despite the fact that she is obviously in some difficulty she is not showing any real signs of distress or panic. She is therefore accustomed to facing challenges regularly. Her shoes are very worn and she is dressed not only for the weather but very practically."

He trailed off with a frown.

"What is it?" I asked.

"There is something…about her Watson…about her manner. She seems at home here…I fear I may have to amend my statement…for though she obviously does not fit in I have the distinct impression that she is very familiar with London at least."

This I could not argue, for she looked around at the park and the large crowds beyond with definite casualness and even friendliness, as though she was in comfortable surroundings.

Holmes deductions had only confused the situation.

"What are we to do?" I asked.

Holmes gave me an amused look.

"Do? My dear Watson why should we do anything? Her appearance here is none of our business."

"You said she was in some difficulty. We should help."

My friend's lips twitched again, though his face did not show a great deal of enthusiasm.

"Oh come on Holmes, what else are you to do? Hmm?'

He smiled outright and let out a resigned, if slightly weary sigh. "Very well Watson." and without another word he strode directly towards the young woman leaving me staring after him.

As I looked on in still trying to regain my footing he approached her and adopting the charming manner he reserved for clients he began to speak with her. I hurried to catch up.

Holmes smirked at me as I drew near and gestured vaguely in my direction.

"And this is my friend and colleague Dr. Watson…" he was saying.

I nodded to the young woman as she smiled and then upon hearing my name did a double take at Holmes.

"Did you say, Dr. Watson?"

Holmes paused, either confused or a little irritated at having to repeat himself. "Yes Ms…"

"Tyler, my name is Rose Tyler…and you…" she turned back to me. "Are you really Dr. Watson?"

Ah. Holmes' face cleared in understanding and I had to repress a chuckle. This woman was a reader of the strand.

"I am indeed, Ms. Tyler." I said. "And this gentleman you've been speaking to is Sherlock Holmes."

She looked at my companion with the same sort of awe and smiled widely. "Hi." She said brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear before sticking out her hand. "I've heard all about you."

Holmes raised an eyebrow but took her hand.

"Can we be of any assistance Ms. Tyler. I couldn't help but notice that you looked a little lost."

"Yeah." She looked about her again in distraction. "Not really lost, s'just I'm lookin' for my friend."

Holmes was losing interest rather rapidly, but I determined that since we had approached the young lady we should not leave until we had helped her.

"Perhaps we could help you find him…Holmes has a deal of experience in matters in this sort." My friend glared at me and I struggled to repress a smile.

Ms. Tyler grinned again, showing a row of neat white teeth. "Yeah ok, thanks."

So friendly and amiable was her manner that I found myself quite comfortable conversing with her, also this was a chance to answer some of the questions Holmes had found so mysterious about her.

"Is this your first time in London Ms. Tyler?"

"No I was born here. I know that…" here she tugged slightly at her clothes going a little red in embarrassment. "…My clothes are a little strange, I forgot to change before…well I've been travelin' and my friend he decided we had to stop here. Kinda suddenly."

"And you were separated from him."

She nodded, "We were looking for something. Well…following it and he ran off across a street…I'm not really use to the cabs and stuff."

She waved vaguely not only at the cabs but at our surroundings in general. "Been gone for a while."

"Was there any place in particular where you were planning to meet him?" I asked helpfully, "Perhaps he is there."

She shook her head.

"I don't think he's too far though, he said the thing we were looking for likes to stay around here." she stuck her hands back in her pockets and looked absently around the park again.

Holmes was frowning again, but in curiosity more than aggravation. I intended to pursue this matter, if only as a distraction from his boredom.

"What was it you were looking for? Perhaps if we find it we can find him." I suggested.

The young woman bit her lip, hesitating. "Well…it's a little hard to explain. I'm not quite sure what it is myself."

"Describe it." Holmes said.

"It's…it's like a box."

"A box."

"yeah…'a really big box."

Holmes looked askance at me and I cleared my throat slightly, my friend continued, as though he hadn't stopped.

"What else Ms. Tyler."

"It's sort of um…blue, with doors and windows, says police on it, its' sort of like a shed."

"And you say you were _following_ this box?" Holmes asked, his brows rising again and an inaudible sigh escaping his lips.

Ms. Tyler looked at my friend sharply, folding her arms across her chest and one of her own brows rising in response. "Blimey…you are just like him."

Holmes frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"If you really are the in the stories then you're just like my friend. So sure of yourself, lookin' at everyone else like they're dribblin' down their shirts."

The young lady's manner of speech was most confusing, but I understood most of it, and had to keep the corners of my mouth from turning up in a smile.

Holmes scowled, quite unused to being addressed by anyone, let alone a strange young woman, in this manner.

"At least I possess a measure of tact Ms."

"Good manners don't mean you're tactful." She looked at me. "How do you put up with him?"

I struggled to repress the smile now, and Holmes shot me a look, while she went on.

"Look, if you think my problem is so beneath you you don't have to help. You probably wouldn't get it anyway. And here I am thinkin' you were clever."

Holmes bristled outright. And I thought it best to intervene.

"You say you were following the box Ms…how was it conveyed?"

She looked at me, brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Was it in the back of a cart?"

"Oh." Her brow cleared, and she cleared her throat. "No…no it wasn't, it just…well…"

I was not to discover what she meant however for at that moment there was a loud shout and the sound of rapid footsteps.

"ROSE!"

All three of us turned, the girl eagerly, to see the most extraordinary figure sprinting towards us through the crowd.

He was tall…taller even then Holmes, thought this may have been because of his hair which was sticking up like a hedgehog on the top of his head. He was also extraordinarily thin which only served to add to the illusion of height. He wore a long brown coat which flapped out behind him as he ran through the snow…and his shoes…other than Ms. Tyler's they were the strangest shoes I had ever seen, though they seemed to serve him well in running.

It was not just his appearance that struck me however, but his manner. Here was a young and very large crowd of people and some quality about him made him stand out from them completely…he would have stood out even if he had been dressed like them.

here was something…his manner or the sheer confidence with which he moved… I had only ever seen that sort of arrogance in one person before and that was Holmes. It was as though he was meant to stand apart from the crowd, and he knew it…a quality that was as much a part of him as the color of his hair or the shape of his jaw.

He skidded to an abrupt halt in front of us, bearing a grin that almost split his face in half.

"Hi." He said breathlessley, grinning at Ms. Tyler, bouncing to and fro on his feet.

"Hey." She grinned back. "'bout time you showed up."

"You're one to talk after all the times you wander off…what am I always saying, rule number one. Don't wander off."

Ms. Tyler rolled her eyes still grinning and at last the man turned to us, the grin still firmly in place.

"Hullo." He said seizing my hand and shaking it enthusiastically "I'm the Doctor."


	5. The Vanishing Box part 3

"Um…pleasure." I stuttered, still stunned from his sudden appearance.

"Doctor." Said Ms. Tyler, a sneaky pleasure apparent on her face. "This is Dr. Watson."

Her companion froze at this announcement and his eyes widened, his mouth falling open. "No…"

He looked at me again, with the same sort of awed pleasure the girl had shown earlier. "You're…"

He shook my hand again. "Oh you're brilliant. Just brilliant! You're one of the best writers that ever lived, I love your stories."

His smile was smaller, but his face practically glowed with a genuine delight that I have seldom encountered, I found myself smiling despite my shock.

"Well, thank you."

He clasped my hand with both his then stepped back cocking his head as though he were viewing a particularly promising student.

"Look at you, this is just brilliant, you know I've tried but I've never managed to meet you before now. And…"

The Doctor pivoted on his heel and turned his sharp gaze on Holmes instead, "And you sir." His voice had calmed slightly, and this time he sounded awed, almost reverent. "You must be Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

He stuck out his hand, and Holmes took it, his brows still raised expressively.

"You sir…are a genius." The Doctor said solemnly.

Holmes smiled lightly, and made no objection to his declaration, studying the man carefully.

"Really…a genius, you'll be remembered for ages, no one like you. What goes on in there..." he tapped one thin finger against his forehead. "…No one will ever match it."

Holmes frowned, and a there was a subtle change in his features that told me the man's remarks affected him far more than he let on.

"You have the advantage of me." Holmes said.

"Oh but that shouldn't be a problem for you should it?" the Doctor said brightly stepping back, he held his arms out slightly from his sides. "You don't need introductions. You notice things, small, simple amazing things that no one else ever sees. You can read men like words on a page."

Holmes thin lips twitched in a slight smile and accepted the challenge, looking the stranger up and down while he stood there expectantly, when he had finished his examination he spoke.

"You like your ward are a traveler, you are not related, though you live together. You came from good prospects though you have since become estranged from your family. You speak with a native accent 

but you are not from England or anywhere in the British Isles…in fact I would not place you as a native of any one nation. You were educated extensively, but hold no official title. You are a scientist, a naturalist, a mechanic, a linguist, and an inventor. You are right handed, and you had toast and marmalade for breakfast."

By the end of this, the Doctor, rather than being shocked or puzzled, was grinning and bouncing on his feet again.

"Brilliant, right in every detail 'cept that it wasn't marmalade it was honey. My turn."

To my astonishment the man stuck his hands in his pockets and in a similar air to that of Holmes began to rattle off his own list.

"That Rose and I are not related is evident by the lack of any similar features, most especially the nose and the shape of the ears. You know I come from good prospects not only from my manner but because only people from that class has the time to travel that extensively and so widely, also everyone one from of such a position is educated. Such a family would frown not only on my evident eccentricities and travel but also of my companion being a young woman of a lower class and so I am estranged from them." Ms. Tyler frowned slightly and folded her arms.

" You know I have no official title because if I did I would be waving my credentials in your face by now since you are a known figure and most educated men feel the need to impress you. I'm a scientist because of the calluses on my hands and the stains on my jacket, I'm a mechanic because of the grease on my right sleeve and an inventor because of the uknown gadget in my pocket." The doctor pulled out a long thin instrument that had been just barely visible in his top pocket.

"I'm a linguist because despite my accent you can't pin the speech patterns of my voice to a single one, meaning that I use other languages extensively. I'm a naturalist because I spent the morning kneeling in the dirt to look at a certain plant and the dirt and leaves are still staining my knees. I'm right handed, again because of the calluses and there are toast crumbs and a sticky patch on my lapel."

He spoke this all at blinding speed and finished with a rather large gasp of air and a self-pleased grin.

I gaped, and glanced at Holmes to see that his expression was rather amazed. He regained himself quickly however and cleared his throat.

"Exactly."

"Brilliant." The Doctor grinned again. "And now Sherlock Holmes I have a question for you."

Holmes…still somewhat dazed waited.

"Have you seen a blue box?"

Ms. Tyler interrupted before he had a chance to answer. "You mean you haven't found it yet?"

The Doctor sighed and glared at his companion, "Rose, the TARDIS is the most untraceable and impervious ship ever made, she's going to take a little time to find."

"Why is it doing this anyway, you said something about a…a checkup?"

"Well she's due for one, I need to go down inside her and poke around a bit, every fifty years or so, but it's like when you take your family cat to the vet, makes her nervous."

"So she dumped us in Victorian England and now she's hidin'?"

"Just so."

The girl sighed, "Oh this is just brilliant."

I understood very little of this conversation and from Holmes' expression neither did he. We exchanged dubious glances and then he cleared his throat again.

"Your box is…hiding?"

"Yeah. Almost caught up with her at the Lyceum theater then St. James of all places, and finally I traced her here by that pavilion over there." the Doctor jerked his head to the west where the small white roof was just visible above a stand of trees "Just missed her…she's too fast."

Holmes let out a small laugh. "You say that "she" is nervous?"

The Doctor looked at him. "Yeah."

Holmes smiled. "Like a cat or a dog?…I have made some study of animals and such behavior Doctor…and when an animal is nervous it not only hides it searches out a place of comfort."

"Like a hidey hole?" Ms. Tyler suggested. "Me and my Mum had a cat once, and she used to slink behind the couch."

"Except the TARDIS doesn't have a hidey hole in Victorian England…so she'll look for something else that makes her comfortable." The Doctor said thoughtfully.

"The three locations you named have one thing in common, Doctor." Holmes said.

Comprehension dawned on the Doctors face. "It's a pattern…of course…music! The TARDIS is telepathic, and there's nothing more telepathic than music, she's drawn to it!"

I was now thoroughly convinced that the Doctor must be a madman, and my immediate inclination was to give this opinion to Holmes and beat a hasty retreat…however he was watching the Doctor with some amusement and I could not find it in me to interrupt the one thing that had peaked his interest in nearly a week.

"Well then." said Holmes, "We have only to find a place of such entertainment and you will be able to predict her movements, Doctor."

"Do you have any suggestions?"

Holmes considered for a moment.

"What sort of music is she susceptible to?"

"Most sorts…mostly woodwinds…but…OH! Voices! She loves voices!"

"The Royal Opera House?" I cut in. "There are performances all the time…"

"Covet Gardens!" the Doctor slapped a hand to his forehead. "Oh I am so thick!"

"Well what are we waitin' for?" Rose asked.

"Right," the Doctor turned to Holmes shook his hand and then mine. "Thanks, nice meeting you, brilliant, have to run."

Then without another word he took off running again, Ms. Tyler at his heels.

We watched them disappear into the crowd again, and I let out a sigh of relief.

"Holmes..."

"I know Watson…quite mad…but refreshing nonetheless."

I looked at him and noticed with relief that he appeared not only more lively but also intrigued.

"Come on old fellow." He patted me on the shoulder and steered me from the park. "I think perhaps we should follow their example and choose a place of entertainment for tonight…perhaps a little dinner at Simpsons?"

Simpsons was full, but we made it to Marcini's before attending a concert of German symphonies that had Holmes tapping his fingers in rhythm, his eyes closed in contentment.

We left the theater in good spirits, arm in arm humming strains of the music we had just listened too. I was looking for a cab to take us home when Holmes suddenly gripped my arm and pointed.

"Watson, look."

I turned and saw to my surprise and slight consternation, two very familiar figures making their way out of the crowd.

The Doctor was dressed appropriately in black tie, though he had not changed his shoes…and Ms. Tyler was barely recognizable dressed in the suitable attire of a young lady of good standing, her hair piled elegantly behind her head.

As we watched they made their way across the court to a small alley between a bank and restaurant.

The moment they disappeared behind the brick wall Holmes released my arm and took off at a rapid pace toward the spot.

"Holmes." I said in some concern hurrying after him. "Wait a moment."

But his dogged curiosity was engaged and he would not be turned from his purpose, weaving through the crowd and the cabs so rapidly that I was hard put to keep up with him.

I did catch him up, but only by putting on a burst of speed as he reached the entrance of the alley.

He stood frozen, his attention engaged by something further up the alley.

I stopped beside him and followed his gaze.

"Good heavens…"

There, standing like a silent sentinel before us was a blue box with double doors and lighted windows.

I turned to my friend. "Holmes it…"

He nodded absently, his mouth curving in a soft smile. Then he was striding forward again towards the box. I followed.

He approached is slowly, placed his hand upon the blue painted wood and pushed the door open.

It is the one and only time that I have ever seen Holmes' jaw drop.

"Holmes." I gasped. "Its' bigger on the inside."

"Yes Watson…I can see that." He said in a slightly strangled voice.

Before us, in place of the small cupboard like space I had been expecting was a vast room unlike any I had ever seen before, covered in lights that emitted soft green and golden light. In the very center was a sort of panel, covered in controls and switches, and at this device stood the Doctor.

He looked up at our entrance, and his brows shot upwards into his wild hair.

"Oh…hello again."

"Doctor." Holmes gasped stepping forward into the impossible room, I followed with some hesitation, glancing about me. "What is this?"

"The TARDIS." The Doctor said, "Time and Relative Dimension in Space."

Holmes swallowed. "A machine?"

"Oh much more than that." the Doctor said with a smile and I saw at once what he meant. There was something about the room, a subtle feeling and noise, almost like breathing, or music…as though it were alive.

"Time?" I don't know how I found voice for the word but it escaped in a strangled gasp from my throat.

The Doctor smiled and stroked the console against which he leaned. "She's a time machine, like in the book, ever read it? H. G. Wells? pretty similar only much better."

The Doctor watched in amusement as Holmes and I gazed about the room in amazement, and then he cleared his throat, shuffling his feet a little.

"I could show you…if you want. It's always nice to have passengers. I could have you home before teatime."

Holmes gave the Doctor a long look and then turned to me, the question clear in his eyes.

I considered for a moment and then at last nodded. For who could really pass up a chance for such an adventure?

"Very well." Holmes said to the Doctor.

Our impromptu captain grinned. "Brilliant." He pulled a switch and the doors swung shut behind us, he began to circle the panel, flipping switches and pushing buttons at rapid speed.

The machine gave a great groan and the subtle noise grew in pitch echoing through the great room.

The events that followed after are recorded in the account that I have titled "The Giant Rat of Sumatra" and as engaging and thrilling a story as it is…it is one for which the world is not yet prepared.


	6. Practically Perfect

**Many thanks to Kyer for suggesting this in her review. This is based not only off of Walt Disney's picture, but also several nightmares that I had as a child. -shudder- **

"Mrs. Hudson!"

The piercing voice of my friend lashed out of his bedroom loudly enough to permanently impair one's hearing. I flinched and set down the medical journal I had been perusing.

"Holmes…"

"Mrs. Hudson!"

He emerged, bursting through the half open door to sweep across the room, scattering papers and various other articles in his wake as he went.

"Holmes, she…"

He went to the door, wrenched it open and shouted down into the stairwell at such a pitch that I half-dropped the book and to cover my ears.

"MRS. HUDSON!"

"HOLMES!"

He turned to meet my furious gaze, his face the picture of innocence and shock.

"I can hear you quite well Watson there is no need to shout."

Praying for the strength and patience not to toss the journal at his incredibly thick skull, I took a bracing breath and closed my eyes before replying.

"Mrs. Hudson left for her sister's this morning, Holmes she won't return for nearly a week…do you remember?"

The detective's face fell slightly.

"Ah…yes, of course I knew that, Watson…just habit that's all….I don't suppose you've ever tried your hand at hemming have you?"

Now it was my turn to stare in surprise.

"_Hemming?"_

"Yes well." Holmes held up a rather abused looking pair of trousers, of a seedy nature. "I need these for a persona I will be donning this evening, and I've only just realized they're too short in the legs."

"For you? Somehow I'm not surprised, Holmes." I said looking up and down his height pointedly.

Holmes snorted, and contemplated the trousers again before turning to me.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Will you?"

I set aside the journal, realizing that I would not be getting back to it anytime soon.

"Holmes, what on earth makes you assume that I am capable of hemming articles of clothing…I'm a doctor, not a tailor."

"Well yes but…you stitch people up all the time, very well in fact, I have had numerous occasions to see that first hand."

"Mainly because its' your own self I'm stitching back together." I said pointedly.

"Exactly." He went on, either ignoring or oblivious to my jibe, probably the latter, he had never really been possessed of a keen sense of self-preservation.

"I've only ever sewed buttons onto clothing, Holmes…and did a rather poor job of that I might add."

Holmes sighed in disappointment and flopped down into his chair opposite mine.

"Inconsiderate…leaving just when I need her."

I raised an eyebrow. "Her sister is ill."

"Well you should have gone then…what am I going to do, Watson?"

I picked up the journal again, determined to lose myself in it and escape Holmes obviously less than pleasant mood.

"I wouldn't worry about it old fellow…Mrs. Hudson has arranged for someone to come by and take care of things until she returns."

Holmes remained stubbornly slumped in his chair…like a child whose been told he can't have his own way.

"When is she coming?"

As if on cue two things happened simultaneously with his words…the doorbell rang and a strong gust of air flew into our open windows scattering the numerous papers that we had stacked on every available surface.

I yelped in alarm and got to my feet in a room that now more resembled a blizzard then a sitting room on a warm autumn evening.

Holmes looked around in mild amusement.

"Odd…" he said with a slight smirk as I batted several drifting pages away from my face."…the wind seems to have changed."

"Holmes could you do something productive? That must be her."

"Astounding deduction, Watson."

He flinched back in his chair at my withering glare.

"What?"

"Would you get the door?!"

He got up from his seat still snickering and I heard his light tread bounding down the steps as I hastened to gather up the papers that now carpeted the floor as well as the furniture.

This was impossible…three of my newer manuscripts had gotten mixed up with Holmes case papers…both current and long out of date…

Perhaps this was a good time for a few of his earlier cases to become 'misplaced' I had always wanted to read about the aluminum crutch he was always hinting about…

I was so engaged in this activity that I did not notice anyone had entered the room until I heard a distinct tuting sound, and a female voice declare.

"No this will _never_ do."

I looked up to see a primly dressed woman standing in the doorway, parasol and carpetbag in hand.

She was dark-haired, and almost inexplicably neat, with every hair and ruffle of her dark skirt and jacket in place. Her lips were pursed disapprovingly as she surveyed the room imperiously.

"I…beg your pardon?" I asked in puzzlement, as Holmes skirted into the room, giving her a rather wide berth and eyeing her carpet-bag askance.

"I don't see how you can stand to live in such a state…especially you, a medical man. You should be ashamed of yourself, Doctor."

I blinked, even her voice was overly proper and cultured…who was this woman?

She set down her bag and parasol and marched daintily across the papers to shut the windows.

I got to my feet and went to stand next to Holmes who had lifted the carpet-bag from the floor and was examining it from every possible angle.

"Holmes, I…Holmes whatever are you doing?"

He spared me a glance from his study, and I felt a sense of misgiving at the extremely confused light in his eyes.

"There must be some trick to it." he muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"She pulled a potted plant from the bag, Watson…just now downstairs…muttering some clap-trap about 'a thing of beauty being a joy forever', then she set it on the table and marched up here."

I frowned. "That's not something to worry yourself over…a bit eccentric certainly…"

"Watson, the plant was over four feet tall!"

We did not have any further chance to discuss this oddity however for the lady in question had managed to close the windows and turned to us, beaming and brushing her hands together.

"Well now…that's better."

"Yes, certainly." I said, endeavoring to be polite despite her unusual entrance and Holmes' obvious misgivings. "I take it you are here at the request of Mrs. Hudson…Ms…"

"Poppins." She said. "Mary Poppins. How do you do, Dr. Watson?"

"Um…yes, Ms. Poppins…have you ever had a position like this before?"

"Oh it will not be any difficulty for me, Doctor…I'm practically perfect in every way."

Holmes stiffened beside me and I trailed off, further puzzled.

"Ah…"

She took no notice, but marched to her carpet bag, which Holmes set down again and hastily backed away from.

She bent and opened it and…to this day I cannot believe what my eyes saw…pulled a very tall hat stand from it, which she then set against the wall. She removed her hat, set it on the hat stand and turned to us again, still beaming.

"Now…shall we clean this place up?

I was dumbstruck, but Holmes had found his voice again and made as though to retreat to his bedroom. "No…no I…there is something urgent that I need to attend to."

"Oh nonsense, Mr. Holmes, cleaning isn't something that you should dread doing…why it can be almost like a game if you think about it."

She turned on me and I had to keep myself from flinching and stepping backward.

"Like you Doctor…when children won't take their medicine you give them a spoonful of sugar."

"Um…no, I'm afraid I've never done that." I said. "In fact in some remedies it actually lessens the effect…."

Either the woman was deaf or ignoring me completely for she swept passed me to Holmes and was drawing him back into the room with a light touch on his elbow.

The poor fellow looked absolutely mortified.

"Its quite easy, there is fun and satisfaction in everything you do…just like snapping your fingers really."

She snapped her fingers sharply, and I _did _step backward when quite suddenly the papers in the room flew up into the air and began to spin around in a second blizzard…only this one looked much more organized.

Ms. Poppins had begun to sing something…but I was too shocked to take any note of the words.

And it was not only the papers which had begun to move but the breakfast dishes and my books and even Holmes' violin had joined the mess.

As I watched, the papers and books began to arrange themselves in neat piles on the shelves, and the dishes fell perfectly into place on the service tray left for us by Mrs. Hudson that morning…good heavens…how I wished she were here now.

I had only just observed the ash scattered by Holmes' pipe rising from the carpet to fall neatly into the grate when I felt a tug on my shoulder.

Holmes had slipped away unnoticed by the singing woman and was pulling urgently at me, drawing me toward his bedroom door.

Freed from my paralyzed state I hurried to follow him, dodging several heavy tomes and a teacup as they flew past.

We dove into Holmes' bedroom narrowly avoiding his violin, which was scraping out the tune of the song on its strings unaided by a human hand.

Holmes shut the door firmly behind us and leaned against it, gasping heavily, his face white.

"Watson." he said at last. "I think it would be best if we were to take lunch at Simpson's while we plan what to do."

I nodded fervently and he led the way out of his room through the sidedoor to the landing.

We crept past the sitting room door to the stairs, fled down them as quickly as we could and out the front door.

"Cab!"

Holmes practically faced down the first conveyance coming our way and we lost no time in clambering in.

Some hours later, just before it turned dark, we made our way warily up the steps back to the sitting room.

As we reached the landing Holmes paused outside the door, listening intently.

There was no sound from within and after a moment, he cautiously eased it open.

A perfect fire burned merrily in the grate…and a steaming tea service sat on the table next to a neat pile of sorted post.

Holmes eyed the tea with distaste as he edged into the room.

I had never before seen it so….clean.

Everything was in place…not a stain or trace of ash remained…not even the medical journal I had discarded earlier.

I headed over to my shelf as Holmes began to prowl about, investigating everything minutely.

"I think she's gone for good Watson…her hat-stand is no longer here."

I sighed and began to pull novels from the shelf.

"What is wrong, Watson?" Holmes said, rifling through the chemicals on his table, which was amazingly free of stains.

"They're alphabetized."

He fronwed. "Isn't that how they're supposed to be?"

"I've never alphabetized them…I had them just how I wanted them. Blasted woman."

My friend's eyebrows, rose towards the ceiling. "Really…Watson…what ever happened to your sense of gallantry?"

"Gallantry be hanged, she completely ruined the state of my desk…I shall not be able to find anything…look over there…even your bullet-pocks are gone."

I gestured to the far wall facing Holmes' chair.

He looked and his jaw dropped…the wall was as clean and pristine as though he had never shot a single bullet into them…the V.R. had vanished without a trace.

"At least she left the slipper." He muttered, refilling it with tobacco and hanging it back on the mantle.

I went to join him, relieving my chair of several distasteful doilies as I did so.

I nearly sat on something and pulled it out from under me to see that it was in fact the pair of trousers Holmes had been trying to fix that morning.

"I say, Holmes."

He looked up from lighting his pipe…his eyes widened as I held the trousers aloft.

"She's hemmed them." I declared, viewing the legs which were now an inch or two longer.

He grunted, taking them from me, then frowned and tossed them into the grate in displeasure.

"I can't use them now!"

"Whyever not?"

"Cause she's washed and pressed them as well!"

He collapsed into his chair moodily, pulling furiously on the pipe.

I sighed and rose to go to my desk, hopefully I could locate a pen.

Perhaps I had better go and speed up Mrs. Hudson's return by seeing what I could do for her sister.


	7. Spoilers

**I can because it's nearly Christmas.**

**In the immortal words of Doctor #9 "Who says I'm not red bicycle when you were twelve!"**

**I do not own the Doctor, if I did I'd be long gone. **

"Doctor!"

The very piercing shout reverberated through the vast halls of the ancient space-ship known as the TARDIS, echoing off of her coral pillars.

"Doctor!"

The voice was sharp and commanding, and obviously accustomed to making itself heard over great distances.

"DOCTOR!"

Rose Tyler sighed and put down her copy of _A Christmas Carol,_ It wasn't exactly her idea of a thrilling read anyway, her Doctor might be Dicken's biggest fan but she found him to be a little dry. Why should she struggle through it when she could watch puppets with large blue noses and singing frogs perform it for her anyway?

Rapid footsteps pounded out their owner's irritation in the hall outside and a moment later the door burst open.

"Doctor-"

The fellow in the doorway faltered as his eyes fell on the blond girl stretched out on the sofa.

"Oh." His face fell. "My apologies, Ms. Tyler, I'm looking for the Doctor."

"Which one?" Rose sat up, wishing that the gray eyes currently fixed on her face were not quite so...probing. Every time he looked at her it was like she was being visually dissected, she could just see the cogs running a million miles an hour in his brain…rather like her own Doctor.

"If you're looking for the tall hyperactive one he's probably in the consol room…"

"If I could find both of them it would be preferable." Said the man a little testily, Rose noticed he was gripping something in his left hand rather tightly.

"What's that?"

He looked down at his hand in surprise as though he'd forgotten he'd been holding what Rose now saw was a book.

"A mistake which is going to be remedied." He said and turned without another word to the door.

Glad for any interruption of her boredom Rose got up and followed.

As it turned out _both_ Doctor's _were_ in the consol room, Rose and the man with probing gray eyes stopped just inside the door, bathed at once in its soothing blue light as the familiar deep hum drifted over them.

Noises from the floor, or rather under it, drew their attention at once and the man hurried over to a hole in the grating and spoke above the muted racket of bangs, thumps and voices.

"Doctor!"

There was an almighty thud, and swearing in a language that neither Rose nor the gentleman understood, and a head with big, brown hair emerged, rubbing a spot on its temple.

"What'd you do that for?" the Doctor groused, taking his sonic screwdriver out of his mouth.

The gray eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Where is Watson?"

A second head emerged, this one with a rounder face, a military moustache and hazel eyes.

"Holmes," the fellow said excitedly, "You simply must see this, the Doctor's been showing me the workings of his ship!"

Sherlock Holmes, was not amused, he practically shoved the book under his friend's face.

"Watson, just what the devil is this?!"

Watson blinked in surprise at the words imprinted on the worn, leather cover.

"I'm sure I don't know…Great Scott!"

"No!" the Doctor's eyes widened in alarm and he tried to snatch the book away too late, Watson took it and flipped it open.

"The Collected Adventures of Sherlock Holmes…" Watson's eyes widened further in incredulous pleasure. "This is marvelous! Holmes they put my writings in a book!"

Holmes sighed in annoyance. "That's what I want to talk to you about Watson..."

"You shouldn't be looking at that…" the Doctor said trying to sneak his hand over Watson's shoulder to catch hold of the book.

"Look here! _A Scandal in Bohemia!"_

"Watson, would you listen to me for a moment!"

"It's a first edition! Are there other editions?…I say, Doyle's put his name on it, blasted editors!"

"Watson!"

"You really shouldn't…"

"_The Devil's Foot_…We haven't had that one yet…" Watson flipped the pages eagerly.

"OI!"

Both he and Holmes turned at the shout and the Doctor took the opportunity to take the book away.

"_Neither of you_, should be looking at that." He repeated stuffing the book safely into one of his pockets, "It would create an unbelievable paradox, reapers everywhere, and Rose doesn't like reapers, just ask her, horrible things."

Watson looked up, noticing Rose for the first time, he smiled.

"Ah, Ms. Tyler, forgive me I neglected to…"

Holmes cut him off again.

"Watson…those stories of yours…"

Watson sighed. "Holmes, if you want to argue about this could you at least wait for me to climb out of this hole first? It's deucedly uncomfortable trying to look up at you from this position."

Grumbling, Holmes stepped back and his friend clambered out and then rubbed his hands clean of grease with a handkerchief from his sleeve, not that it really made a difference, all the rest of him including his face was covered in it.

The Doctor, miraculously, was not, he came to stand beside the other three, nearly two inches taller than Holmes himself.

"Holmes," he said, "You're not to bother him about the stories, he writes them and you let him print them. Technically it's already been done and over with…"

Watson secreted an amused look to Rose, which she returned with a grin. Very few people could talk to Sherlock Holmes with that condescending tone.

"Of course it's not done." Holmes retorted hotly, not in the least bit cowed, "This is a time machine, you yourself said that history is being rewritten by the moment."

Very few people could talk to the Doctor in that tone either…it seemed that the world's only consulting detective was one of them.

"Not this part." the Doctor answered. "These stories have been around for centuries, and besides I enjoy them. If you don't like it that's too bad, I'm the last say on these sorts of things."

"They last for centuries?" Watson whispered, his whole face lighting with awed pleasure.

"Longer." The Doctor said automatically.

Rose Tyler settled herself on the Jump seat, still grinning.

If only the TARDIS had a popcorn maker.


	8. Englishmen in King Arthur's Court

**Something a little different for you.  
**

**Richard Harris has always been my King Arthur since he made an impression on my 9 year old self.**

* * *

"Pellinore! What are these…strange _creatures_ you've brought me this time?"

Sir Pellinore, decidedly the oldest, stodgiest, doddering old buffer ever to sit at the round table, bowed low until the crusty feathers on his ancient helmet swept the floor. It took him a few long moments to straighten up again.

Arthur hid a smile behind his hand.

Others in the room did not bother to hide their smiles. It was a long-standing joke—almost a monthly event—for Pellinore to bring in "prey" from various quests to do battle with the forces of darkness.

Never mind that he was so old he usually forgot his sword, and upon occasion his horse.

"You're majesty." Pellinore said with gravity "I have discovered a strange wizard, and his companion, wandering in the forest."

Arthur restrained his smile and cleared his throat, looking down at the two men who stood awkwardly behind the aged knight.

At least they were men this time and not the evil "beast" Pellinore had returned with last time. The good farmer William had been very upset at the loss of his prize pig.

"I see," said Arthur and gladly leapt up from his chair, and strode closer.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lancelot stiffen and uncomfortably grip the edge of the table. Really the boy would have to relax if he was going to last more than a year, not every breathing thing was a potential target. Arthur made a note to speak to him again, before his attention was arrested fully by the study of the two individuals who stood before him.

The first was tall, taller than he, Lancelot, or even sir Grifflet. He had a severe face, with a hawklike nose and the King felt himself pierced at once with the man's pale eyes.

It was no wonder Pellinore had thought him a wizard.

They were both of them, dirty and bedraggled, with scratches on their faces and across their clothes. Arthur wouldn't be surprised to learn that Pellinore had dragged them backward through brambles and hedges all the way here.

Looking past the obvious he examined their faces as Merlin had taught him. They were ill-at-ease, lined and pinched with exhaustion and a worrying-journey, but they possessed none of the fear or hatred he would have seen on an enemy's face. They were merely confused, panicked, ready to fly at the next opportunity.

That would not do.

Arthur permitted his smile now, and gently nudged Pellinore—and the number of over-eager young knights behind him—aside.

"You are welcome," he said. "Do forgive Sir Pellinore, he's a dedicated old soldier. He is sometimes overeager in his protection of Camelot…I trust he was mistaken in this case…"

At his words, and the recession of armed men, the strangers relaxed, though they still looked about them in wonderment.

"Thank you," said the shorter of the two, and all eyes left the taller, to fall on him instead. "We mean no harm to anyone."

This second seemed more at ease than the first, and it took Arthur a moment to realize why. He lacked the outward, piercing threat of his "wizard" companion. He was broader, stouter, he stood more grounded, rolled his shoulders more comfortably, and held his hands close at his sides. He possessed the subtle lethality of a warrior comfortable in his own body.

He was more at home among the knights at the table, than his tall, thin, friend.

Arthur liked him instantly. He smiled at the man's honest blue gaze and held out his hand. "I am Arthur."

The warrior hesitated, gripped his hand and seemed to relax even further.

"Arthur…Pendragon?" he sounded almost incredulous, but the King was hardly insulted.

"It is something of an awkward title, isn't it. So you have heard of me?"

"Many many times. My name is Watson." The warrior turned to his companion. "Holmes, do you know of—"

The "wizard" sighed, looking more agitated by the minute. "I am _British_, Watson."

"This is Holmes." Watson said…and a sudden unpleasant thought flashed across his face. "And he's not a wizard. He's just very intelligent..."(1)

"I understand." Arthur said consolingly. "You needn't fear. We have no prejudice of wizards here, had our own once before he disappeared on us."

"I can sympathize with that…" said Watson with a smile, and then the incredulity returned. He looked down at Arthur's hand, clasped in his own, and then glanced at his companion.

"Holmes…have I gone mad?"

Holmes shook his head, "No my dear fellow, everything you see here is entirely authentic, neither of us have ever shown ourselves to be more than irrational…and you threw away the last of my cocaine last week."

Arthur did not really follow this exchange, but then he hadn't understood many of Merlin's mutterings either.

"Good," he said and invited them both to dinner.

1 Poor Watson is thinking of his remark that Holmes seems sometimes to have supernatural powers and that he "would certainly have been burned, had you lived a few centuries ago." Scandal in Bohemia.

* * *

**Now how on earth did they get there?**


End file.
